Breathing
by Four-Leaf Clovers
Summary: "You're here now. That's what matters." Oneshot. Eclare.


**I got the idea for this one-shot while reading **_**The Ghost of You**_** by xXxThe Phantom's RosexXx, although it really is not at all related.  
****I originally planned on writing more, but the words weren't coming anymore.  
****Anyway, this is a bit more descriptive of a story than I usually write, and- gasp!- it's essentially in Clare's POV. I usually only write first-person Eli, so this is a pretty nice experiment for me (although I doubt I'll ever write Clare in first person).**

**I don't own Degrassi. If I did, there'd be a spin-off called "Goldsworthy" that chronicles Eli's adventures in New York. But, alas, there is not.**

* * *

_And if you're still breathing, you are the lucky ones, cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs_.  
- Daughter, "Youth"

* * *

She had come back from Columbia for the weekend to visit her family when she ran into Audra Torres at the grocery store, amidst the freezers that held ice cream, waffles, and supposedly healthy meals from Lean Cuisine. Suddenly it seemed to get colder, and Clare dodged the woman, abandoning her cart in the middle of the aisle and fleeing the store.

When she reached the car she'd borrowed from her mother, she strapped herself into the driver's seat and gave into the sobs that had threatened to escape her since she first recognized Audra.

Clare hated herself for the way she'd tried her hardest to avoid thinking about Adam since she left for New York- of course, she had tried not to think about _everything_ involving Degrassi, including a certain boy who she knew was not currently living very far from her at all, desperately wanting a fresh start.

She was a bitch, she knew. Adam was her best friend, hardly seventeen-years-old, and he was dead. And she was off in a different _country_, trying to live a life apart from her memory of him.

As her chest heaved and she breathed raggedly, her face red, blotchy, and wet with tears, she resolved to visit his grave the following day. It wouldn't absolve her of all her guilt, but she figured it was better than nothing.

She waited for the hysteria to pass before starting the car and leaving the parking lot, knowing better than to drive in such a state.

xxxxx

Clare sat at the table across from her mother, absently pushing her peas around her plate with her fork, overcome with anxiety in the face of her plans for the next day.

"Clare, are you okay?" Jake asked from her left side- he had come home to visit as well, something by which Clare felt slightly… annoyed. She couldn't place her finger on a specific reason behind the feeling, but, either way, she knew it was there. "You're really pale."

"Just-just really beat," she said softly, keeping her eyes on her plate.

"You didn't happen to pick up the groceries when you were out today, did you?" Helen inquired.

"No, I didn't." She dropped her fork loudly, eliciting a sharp metal shriek. "What's with the interrogation?" she snapped.

"What's with the attitude? All I asked was if you went to the grocery store, and all your brother asked was if you were feeling okay."

Clare wasn't exactly sure why she had answered so sharply, but it didn't stop her from grumbling, "_Step_-brother," her head still turned down.

"Clare, this is the first time we've seen you since you came home for your winter break," Helen said matter-of-factly. "You can't blame us for being curious. Especially when you look so sickly."

"I'm just… I think I'm going to go to the cemetery tomorrow."

"What?"

She looked up to find Helen, Jake, and Glen all staring at her with equal amounts of surprise and what looked like suspicion. "To see Adam. I think it's about time."

"I'll take you," Jake said quickly.

Clare was just as quick to counter him with a solid, "No. I need to do this on my own."

xxxxx

The April air was considerably warm when Clare stepped out of the house, and it was dry for what felt like the first time in weeks. Dressed in a navy dress and a light black cardigan- feeling any floral or denim would be inappropriate for the situation at hand- she climbed into Helen's SUV.

Her first stop, she decided, would be the grocery store, once again. She felt stupid buying Adam flowers- she knew he probably wouldn't like them, but she wasn't sure what else she could possibly put on his grave. She hesitantly chose a bouquet of white carnations, feeling the sullenness set in once again.

It wasn't that she hadn't expected the horrible feeling to resurface- especially on a day like today- but she had no desire whatsoever to break down in front of a plethora of soccer moms.

She swallowed hard as she set the carnations down on the conveyer belt.

xxxxx

Her hands were trembling as she made her way through the labyrinth of headstones, trying her hardest not to step on the ground above where she thought a body might be resting.

The last time Clare'd been at a cemetery was at her grandmother's funeral when she was 13. She'd worn a black dress with her hair was woven into two long braids. She was ridden with guilt because she didn't shed a single tear- she was not close with the woman by any means and hadn't actually seen her since she was around seven.

She hadn't attended Adam's wake or funeral, cooped up in the hospital, and it still bothered her.

She couldn't shake the thought that she should've been the one buried six-feet-under at this moment- she'd spent that summer struggling with accepting that she had cancer, and that she could die from the affliction. Adam, however, was healthy; there was no pre-requisite for his death. She never voiced such a thought, knowing it'd only lead to a severe scolding (at the very least).

Finally Clare stumbled upon what she had spent the last twenty-five minutes searching for. He was right next to 85-year-old Great-Grandma Torres. She stood there, analyzing the white marble headstone- she was happy to see that it read, "Beloved son and brother," no hint of the female he was born as present. It was only shortly after she arrived that she felt another presence at her side.

She wasn't sure what- or _who_- she had been expecting, but it certainly was not Eli Goldsworthy, clutching a bouquet of roses in each hand- one red and one white. Before she said anything, Clare took a moment to take him in. His once black hair was now his natural brown, cut shorter so that his slight curls were made visible. He was, however, wearing all black- something he had seemed to have given up back in the fall of his freshman year. He had certainly grown up a bit, his shoulders broader. There was the faintest hint of stubble above his lips and on his chin. His eyes were rimmed with red and glassy, their olive color dulled.

"Eli," she said softly, unable to get out a standard greeting.

He didn't respond.

Feeling uncomfortable, Clare cleared her throat and stepped forward, setting her flowers down so that they leaned against the stone. Eli had not moved at all, his stare still focused on her.

She pondered for a moment the bouquets he held- of course one was for Adam, but what about the second one? She watched as he gripped the bouquet in question harder, the cellophane surrounding the flowers crinkling.

And then it occurred to her.

"It's… it's the 22nd, isn't it?" she asked tentatively.

He nodded, pressing his lips together and looking away.

"I'm-" She cut herself off, observing the way he busied himself with gently placing his white roses for Adam beside hers.

"If you're going to say you're sorry, please don't," Eli said sharply. "I always get enough pity today as it is." He stood up, brushing off his dark jeans and beginning to walk away from her.

She hurried to catch up to him, but even when she reached his side he didn't address her.

He stopped short after cutting through about ten rows of graves in front of a headstone made of a sandy-colored marble headstone that Clare was certain identified the spot as Julia's final resting place and made quick work of placing her flowers. To Clare's surprise, however, he didn't get up the way he did at Adam's- he sat down beside the headstone, delicately tracing the lettering engraved into the marble with his pointer finger.

When he was done with her name, Eli's hand dropped to his side and he lifted his head to look at Clare. "Can you just say what you have to say, please?"

She cringed at the cold edge to his voice. "I don't know what I have to say," she admitted. "But I-"

"You what, Clare?" he interrupted her. "Do you expect me to be happy-go-lucky about seeing you for the first time in a year and a half on the anniversary of the worst day of my life?"

"N-no."

"I-" She must've looked extremely upset, because he instantly softened. "Today isn't a good day for me."

"It's okay, I understand… I mean- I don't exactly understand, no," she corrected herself quickly, fearful of another angry outburst from him, "but… I understand you being upset. About me, I mean." When he didn't reply, she asked, "Do you come every year?"

He cast his eyes to his legs, which were folded in front of him. "Um… not exactly. I mean…"

She could tell he was hesitant to answer her completely.

"The first year- I mean, the fight was on the night of the 21st, but she didn't leave my house until after midnight. So that day…" He pulled at a loose string along the seam of his pants. "I didn't go to school, obviously. I stole a bottle of whiskey from my parents' liquor cabinet and spent the day getting drunk and smoking until I was out of cigarettes…" Eli trailed off and looked up at her expectantly, but she said nothing. "The first real anniversary, I- I tried to kill myself. I swallowed a bunch of pills and washed them down with vodka and just laid on my bed, waiting to die. Cece found me and I ended up getting my stomach pumped and I remember I was so angry with myself for not doing it right."

Clare sucked in a breath, her heart beating loudly. _He had attempted suicide only a few months before she met him_.

"After that incident, my parents decided we needed to move- I was getting beat up daily because everyone blamed me for her death, and I know I scared them shitless that day," he said, swallowing hard. "The next year I crashed my car into a wall."

Clare's eyes opened wide and met his- she couldn't believe he'd actually said it, and so bluntly.

"Then the next one I came here, but when I got home I drank again. And I did the same thing last year. And now, well…" He lifted himself up off the ground enough so that he could slip something out of his back pocket- a black flask. He turned it over in his hands before slowly opening it and pouring its contents over his ex-girlfriend's grave.

"I don't think that's-"

"Bet she could use a drink," Eli said with a half-hearted chuckle, screwing the cap back on. He got up, stuffing the empty flask back into his pocket. "This the first time you've come to see him?"

Clare knew his mind was back on Adam. "Y-yeah."

"He'd be glad that you were here."

"I should've come sooner," she said guiltily.

"You're here now," he responded, and suddenly his finger was softly stroking her cheek. "That's what matters."

His simple touch was enough to draw another sob out of her, and he quickly pulled her into his arms. It wasn't long before they were both shaking, both crying for what they'd lost- a girlfriend, a best friend, a stable family, a stable mentality, and a love for the storybooks.


End file.
